“Are you waiting for a score? If so, it’s an F.”
“Lying again, even though you’re clearly impressed. Oh, and you’re slightly trembling right now.”
I go still against him, cursing my involuntary body reaction.
“Now I know what you truly are,” he says.
“And what is that?”
“Tsundere.”
“What?”
“It means someone who’s hot and cold. Violent on the outside, despite being soft on the inside.”
“I know what Tsundere means and I’m not a damn anime character.”
“I’ll confirm that during dinner tomorrow.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips on my skin that instantly turns red.
I’ve always praised myself for being above having emotions, or at least, not showing them. But right now, it seems as if I’m an open book in front of Sebastian.
He finally releases me, his hard, warm body leaving mine as he turns around, then strides away.
“I won’t be there!” I shout after him.
“See you tomorrow, Tsundere,” he calls back without looking at me.
I’m left there, fuming and boiling with a thousand different emotions that I can’t contain.
The most prominent of all—strange arousal.
The type that feels wrong and right at the same time.
6
Naomi
My feet are wobbly as I head to the parking lot. The chaos and the endless sounds from the stadium buzz at the back of my head with the continuity of a humming earthquake.
I slouch against the door of my car, hand trembling as I open it. Once I’m inside, I clutch the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, my blank stare projected on the half-empty parking lot.
Did that…just happen? With Sebastian, no less?
Yeah, fine, so I kind of had some sort of an unhealthy fixation on him for as long as I’ve known him. I blame my younger, immature teenage hormones.
But I’ve never acted on it, never looked at him—at least, not when he was paying
attention—flirted with him, or showed my interest. Because unlike the idiot teenager I was, I now realize someone like Sebastian Weaver isn’t meant for me. It’s not that he’s out of my league, but he’s the shallow type—hello, quarterback and rich and comes from a line of politicians?
I’m shallow, too, for actually allowing him to prick my black heart once upon a time. It was a single prick, you know, like a needle that you barely feel, but just like a needle, it’s already spread a chemical inside and now, I can’t purge him out of my bloodstream.
Actually, I can.
I was waiting for the end of college so we could take different routes in life. He’ll be the successor in a line of politicians or get drafted into the NFL, and I’ll move to Japan to bug the hell out of Akira, then convince him to come here so we can plot chaos.
Point is, Sebastian was never supposed to notice me, not when he has countless girls—cheerleaders included—making voodoo dolls to gain a sliver of his attention.
But he didn’t kiss them on TV. He didn’t grab them and restrain them and imprison them against his weapon of a body.